My Bloodthirty Husband Is So Gentle

The pretty young lady turned pale and pouted reluctantly. “All right, I’m leaving.” After taking a few steps, she turned around and asked hesitantly, “Master Feng, do you dislike me? You don’t even touch—”

Yuwen Chongfeng looked at her and laughed. “Yep. I don’t like you. I don’t like that you ask too many questions.” He walked over to her, patted her head, and adjusted her collar, saying, “Get a taxi home. Don’t let the media see you.”

The woman pouted. “Got it.”

Very obedient. Emotionless and boring—they both were.

Yuwen Chongfeng extracted a cigarette from the drawer, lit it, and drew long and hard on it until the end. Then he poured himself a drink and lit another.

Heavy-duty cigarettes and alcohol… That was Jiang Jiusheng, for you.

On the hospital’s rooftop, Jiang Jiusheng smoothed her hair, which had been ruffled by the blustery wind, and made another call.

“Mum.” She greeted her in a monotonous and detached tone.

“Yes, what is it?” said the voice at the other end of the line, similarly dull and aloof.

Jiang Jiusheng paused before asking, “Do we know anyone with wealth and power?”

Jian Chengzhong was not the first recipient of retaliatory action because of Jiang Jiusheng and definitely would not be the last. As Su Qing had said, she seemed to carry a curse that had never been broken.

Her mother, Jiang Yuezhi, gave it some thought and replied, “Your father and I are both salaried workers. Where and how do you think we could have associated with people at that level?” She paused and then queried, “Why? Are you in trouble?”

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

Jiang Yuezhi did not continue with the grilling. Instead, she said, “Look after yourself.”

“Yep.”

“That’s it then.”

“Okay.”

She hung up.

Jiang Jiusheng felt a bit shaken. Her relationship with her mother had always been lukewarm—not distant but simply courteous. They rarely spoke except for maybe one or two phone calls in a year, during which their conversations were invariably contrived and predictable. Having witnessed, on many occasions, the familial bond her brother had with their mother, she sometimes wondered if she had been adopted. Her father was worse, always keeping his head down and never looking her in the eye.

Feeling frustrated, she placed a cigarette between her lips, coaxed a flame from the rotary lighter, and drew on the cigarette to light up.

Abruptly, the cigarette was snatched from her lips.

Jiang Jiusheng looked up.

“Smoking is bad for your health,” said Shi Jin. Then, in a somewhat suppressed tone, he added gently, “Sorry. I’m a doctor. Occupational hazard.”

Jiang Jiusheng looked at the slim ladies’ cigarette nestled in Shi Jin’s slender fingers.

It was just a simple gesture, but Jiang Jiusheng couldn’t help but feel deliriously happy. Staring at the cigarette, she said, “Just one stick.”

Her voice was soft, with a hint of pleading. It was so unlike her. She had always been disrespectful, lazy, and not one to show weakness. Yet, in this instance, she could not stop the cajoling words coming out of her mouth.

“Let me smoke just one, please?”

Was this her? What had happened to her persona?

Shi Jin seemed to have an almost demonic sort of ability to overpower and control. Jiang Jiusheng decided to just shut up.

Trying not to laugh, Shi Jin smiled. “Okay,” he said and returned the cigarette to her. He simultaneously removed the pack of cigarettes that she had placed by the railing and put it in his pocket.

Without a word, Jiang Jiusheng tried to light up, but, perhaps due to the gusty wind and the fact that her left arm was immobilized, the cigarette remained unlit after a few attempts.

“Allow me,” Shi Jin suggested.

Jiang Jiusheng hesitated for a few seconds before handing over the lighter to Shi Jin. Taking it, he shielded it from the wind and gently clicked.

Click!

The flame rendered his fingers silvery white. Jiang Jiusheng had only to lower her head to see the pristine and clear lines on his palm, a perfect work of art fit for kings.

Holding the cigarette between her fingers, she drew on the flame and exhaled a ring of smoke before saying, “You seem to know what you’re doing, Dr. Shi. Do you smoke?”

Once again, she had called him Dr. Shi. She didn’t know why, but she liked to call him that.

Making a guttural sound, Shi Jin said, “I used to, but not anymore.” He handed the lighter back to her, saying, “I used to favor this type of lighter, too. I like the clicking sound.”

She agreed.

No doubt about it. Her secret fan.

Accepting the lighter from him, Jiang Jiusheng leaned against the railing and took a gentle draw on the cigarette before asking Shi Jin, “So why did you quit?”

“Someone didn’t like it,” he replied.

And who was this someone? His lover, perhaps?

Although the question was on the tip of her tongue, she could not bring herself to broach the subject, so she kept quiet, drawing hard on the mild and tasteless mint-flavored cigarette—more suited for women. She had the sudden urge to smoke the most pungent cigarettes, drink the most lethal alcohol, and sing her heart out.

Suddenly, Shi Jin said, “You seemed troubled.”

Yeah. I am troubled, but I don’t know why.

Jiang Jiusheng nodded and admitted, “A little troubled.”

Quietly, Shi Jin looked her in the eye and, after a few seconds, asked, “Would you like to touch my hand?”

Surprised, Jiang Jiusheng was struck dumb.

“I have no ulterior motives. Just prescribing a remedy,” he explained.

So, Shi Jin had remembered that she had a hand fetish.

Automatically, Jiang Jiusheng’s gaze dropped to his hands. “But your obsession with cleanliness. Would that be a problem?”

“I’ll get it washed later.”

He sounded so reassuring, so convincing—and, oh, so alluring. It captivated the heart of Jiang Jiusheng, who was at the terminal stage of her hand fetishism.

Clinging to the last remnants of rationality, she said, “If we do this, I might get addicted to your hand.”

Like smoking, some vices were best left untouched before addiction set in.

Seeing through her concern, Shi Jin flashed her a soothing smile. “Unlike nicotine addiction, hand fetishism is not harmful to your health, so there’s no need to have to kick the habit.” He extended his hand and told Jiang Jiusheng, “Just relax. After all, I am your secret fan.”

Losing control, Jiang Jiusheng was hypnotized by his words.

It seemed unimaginable that a secret fan could be so breathtakingly stunning and elegant. If, as Mo Bing had suggested, this was all fake, then, as an old saying went, this “sugar-coated addictive” would still be welcomed and consumed.

Convinced that she was totally captivated by Shi Jin’s hand, she held it for a full minute. It was highly addictive.

On the way back to her room, she ran into her old enemy, Jian Chengzhong. Seeing her, the usually suave and well-dressed scion scrambled and hid under the chair in the waiting room.

Jiang Jiusheng looked on, speechless.

Am I that scary?

Under the chair, Jian Chengzhong could be seen hugging his quivering body and muttering, “I will never ever do that again. Never…”